Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite Kaye

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СКАЧАТЬ appearances, money was not one of his worries. But then, if one could have judged John by appearances, money had not been one of his worries either. Not that her husband had ever been at all worried by money—or the lack of. No, that was not true. Those sullen silences of his spoke volumes. And latterly, so, too, did his habit of simply disappearing when she challenged him.

      Ainsley sighed again, irked with herself. She was absolutely sick and tired of thinking about John. Across the room, Mr Drummond, having concluded his business with the waiter, glanced up and smiled at her. His eyes, under heavy dark brows, were a deep, vivid blue. She felt it then, what she had ignored before, a tug of something quite basic. Attraction. It made her stomach do a silly little flutter. It made her pulses skitter and it made her mouth dry, that smile of his, and the complicit look that accompanied it, as if the pair of them were in cahoots. It made her forget her anger at the injustice of her situation, and it reminded her that though she might well be a penniless widow with debts so terrifying they could not be counted, she was also a woman who had not known the touch of a man for a long time. And this man, this Mr Innes Drummond, who was seating himself opposite her, this man, she was pretty certain, would know exactly how to touch her.

      ‘So, ladies first.’

      Colour flooded her face. She stared at him blankly, horrified at the turn her mind had taken, praying that none of those shocking thoughts were visible on her countenance ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘Your tale of woe, Mrs McBrayne. You tell me yours, and then I’ll tell you mine, and we can decide which of us is worst off.’

      He had very long legs. They were stretched out to the side of the table that separated them. Well-made legs. Not at all spindly. And really rather broad shoulders. Well built, that was the phrase she was looking for. Athletic, even. And yes, his face and hands were rather tanned, as if he spent a deal of his life out of doors. ‘What is it you do?’ she asked. ‘I mean—do you—are you a resident here in Edinburgh? Only, you do have an accent, but I cannot place it.’

      Instead of taking offence, or pointing out that she had changed the subject, Innes Drummond gave a little shrug. ‘I’m originally from the Highlands, Argyll on the west coast, though I’ve lived in England most of my adult life. I’m an engineer, Mrs McBrayne.’

      ‘A practical man.’

      He smiled. ‘You approve.’

      ‘I do. It is none of my business, but—yes.’ She smiled back. ‘What do you build?’

      ‘Railway lines. Tunnels. Canals. Bridges and aqueducts. There is a very high demand for all these things, thanks to the steam locomotive. Though I don’t actually build the things myself, I design them. And even that— Business is very good, Mrs McBrayne. I am afraid I employ a rather large number of men to do most of the real work while I spend too much of my time in the boardroom, though I still like to think of myself as an engineer.’

      ‘A very successful one, by the sounds of it. I did not think that money could be an issue with you.’

      He gave her an enigmatic look before turning his attention to pouring them both a glass of whisky from the decanter that the waiter had deposited. ‘Slàinte!’ he said, touching her glass with his.

      ‘Slàinte!’ Ainsley took a sip. It was a good malt, peaty and smoky, warming. She took another sip.

      ‘I take it, then, that money is an issue for you,’ Innes Drummond said.

      She nodded. He waited, watching her, turning his glass round and round in his hand. One of the many things she’d learned from her marriage had been how to keep her own counsel—and how to keep her own secrets. Her failures, and the trusting, timid nature that had contributed to them, made her ashamed. She confided in no one, not even Felicity, and Felicity was the best friend she had. But confiding in this stranger, what harm could it do? Whatever had brought him to Edinburgh, he wasn’t likely to be stopping long. If—however—he judged her, she’d be spared the pain of seeing it. Who knew, perhaps articulating her problems might even help her see a path to resolving them.

      Catching sight of her wedding band, Ainsley tucked her left hand into the folds of her gown. ‘It is money,’ she said, ‘it comes down to money, and though I tell myself it’s not fair, for I did not spend the money, I know at heart it’s just as much my fault as his.’

      * * *

      Mrs McBrayne took another sip of whisky. ‘Dutch courage,’ she said, recklessly finishing the amber liquid and replacing the glass on the table before straightening her back and taking an audible breath. Innes wondered what on earth was to come, and wondered if he should stop her confidences, but dismissed this idea immediately. She was steeling herself, which meant she wanted to talk. Besides, he was interested, and it was good to have his mind concentrate on someone else’s woes rather than his own for a while. He took a cautious sip of his own whisky and waited.

      ‘I will need to go back a bit,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’ When he nodded, she smiled an on-your-head-be-it kind of smile. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I met my husband, John McBrayne, when I was twenty. Nearly a decade ago. He was very much the gentleman, respectable, handsome, presentable, popular.’ She counted her husband’s assets off on her fingers. ‘He was also what they call a charmer, and I was charmed. I met him at the Assembly Rooms. He was the friend of a friend. He seemed to be a man of means. Within six months, he had proposed, and I was delighted. I was happy. I was in love.’ Another smile, only this one was a bitter little twist. ‘John spoke to my father. My father asked me if I was sure, he told me there was no hurry, that if I wanted to change my mind—but I didn’t, and I didn’t think—I thought Papa was just being his usual cautious self, that’s all. He was always polite to John, never said a word against him to me, and— But I’m getting ahead of myself.’

      Innes swallowed the rest of his malt. ‘Do you want another?’ he asked, indicating her glass, and when Mrs McBrayne shook her head, resisted the urge to pour one for himself. ‘Go on.’

      ‘We were happy. I find I have to remind myself of that, but for a year or so we were happy. Then the bills started to go unpaid, and when I asked John, he told me not to worry. But I did, and when I eventually looked into matters properly, I discovered we owed a monstrous amount. My husband was furious when he found out that I knew, he told me it was a temporary situation, he told me—ach, he told me all sorts, and I believed some of it, because I wanted to. I’d never enquired about his income until then, I had assumed my father—but there, you see, I’m putting the blame on others when it was my own fault. I should have asked right at the start. I should have made it my business, but by the time I did, it was too late.’

      ‘You mean that by that time, your husband’s debts were unmanageable?’

      ‘I mean it was too late for me to persuade my husband that his debts were not only his business but mine, too,’ Mrs McBrayne responded wryly. ‘I think I will have another, if you don’t mind.’

      She was pale despite the whisky, her mouth thinned, her eyes focused inwards. When she sipped her drink, her hand trembled. Noticing that, she placed the glass carefully down. It was a common enough tale, but the way she told it was not at all common. Her feelings ran very deep. Innes was struggling to understand why.

      ‘I told you you wouldn’t understand,’ she said, taking him aback by seeming to read his thoughts.

      He made no attempt to deny it. ‘Explain it, then,’ Innes said.

      ‘Imagine how you would feel if someone else СКАЧАТЬ